


One Simple Request

by LouLa



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Time Bottoming, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, past Michael Latta/Michael Liambas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:44:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/pseuds/LouLa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike could fuck him, if Tom asked for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Simple Request

There's a part of Tom that knows, deep down, that he could ask for it, and Mike wouldn't hesitate to give it to him, no questions, no judgment. But that part is always drowned out by the fact that Mike never brings it up, never pushes, just reaches for the lube and fingers himself open, and that's that.

It's there though, knocking at the back of his skull like the tune of an annoying song stuck in his head. Mike could fuck him, if Tom asked for it.

―

He never used to think about it. Not until Mike introduces him to Liambas, and it's made clear right off the bat that Mike told Liambas about them.

“You're bottoming now?” Liambas asks Mike, voice teasing but in a light enough way that it doesn't put Tom's hackles up. “You never wanted me to fuck you,” he says accusingly.

He grabs up Mike in a headlock, and Mike fights him, breaks the hold and shoves Liambas away, face split wide open in a grin.

“That's because you're a needy little bitch. Always begging for my dick.”

Liambas laughs like that's the best thing Mike could have said. They wrestle and laugh and touch each other in a way that's so familiar it makes Tom's stomach go tight with bitterness, fists clenching against the urge to pull Mike away from his friend and hold him against his side.

Liambas isn't in town for long, thank god. Tom can't deal with the pit of jealousy sitting in his gut.

―

The first time they fuck, Mike assumes that Tom doesn't want to bottom.

Which is just fine with Tom. The thought of a dick in his ass is still too terrifying to think about when he's only just starting to enjoy putting it in his mouth. Besides, Mike seems to know what he's doing, and if the noise he makes when he's stretched around his own fingers is anything to go by, he clearly enjoys it.

The problem is that he keeps assuming, and they never talk about it. When they get enough of a gap in their schedule to have time to do more than jerk each other off before a nap, Mike will always get on his knees and slick his fingers into himself until he's good and ready for Tom's cock.

It's not as though Tom is complaining. He's more than happy to fuck Mike.

But lately, each time he fucks in and Mike makes this sweet, desperate choked off noise, it makes something in Tom ache. He starts to wonder what it feels like as he traces the rim of Mike's hole stretched tight around him. He can't help feeling like he's missing out on something as Mike gasps, “right there, right there, fuck me,” and comes so hard that he turns into a boneless heap of uselessness.

―

Tom waits for the house to get quiet, when he knows Mike is in his own room and Andre is likely asleep somewhere. He sucked Mike off earlier in the shower, and that doesn't mean Mike isn't going to show up in his room for another round, but it's a game day tomorrow, and usually they keep to their own beds the night before a game.

Everything feels too loud in the dark silence, and even though he's moving as carefully as he can, he still worries Mike will somehow hear the cap on the lube snicking open and know what Tom is about to do.

He doesn't know why it scares him so much, but it does.

He slicks his fingers up and touches hesitantly behind his balls, down to his hole. It feels weird, pushing his finger in. He bends his knee up, the way he's seen Mike do and tries to fuck himself. It doesn't really do much.

The second finger feels even weirder. He can feel the stretch and the way he tenses up against it. It doesn't hurt, but it doesn't feel good either. He keeps going until he has his fingers in as deeply as they can reach, and his cock twitches.

He knows what he's supposed to do, what he's read and seen Mike do, knows why Mike wants him to fuck him 'right there, right there.' He curls his fingers, searching, still skeptical. He doesn't expect it, the electric pulse that shocks through him. He curls his fingers again, harder, and it knocks the breath out of him like a hard check to the boards.

He doesn't stop until he's jerked out a load onto his chest and is panting like he was stuck on the ice for a two minute shift.

―

It doesn't get any easier to ask Mike. Tom thinks about it a lot but can never really come up with a good way to say it.

“Will you fuck me?” would obviously do just fine if Tom could get the words to come out, but they sit lodged in his throat, choking him.

He throws a leg over Mike's hip, moving closer to him and brushing Mike's hand aside to get their dicks pressed up together and wrapped tight in his fist. With his head bowed between them, he watches himself jerk their cocks off together.

_I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me._  It plays on loop through Tom's head. He could say it like he's just talking dirty to Mike, trying to get him off quick because they're both tired after a frustrating game lost in a shootout.

At least then the idea would be as in Mike's head as it is in Tom's. Tom wants him to have to think about it every minute of every fucking day like Tom has done for the past few weeks.

Tom bows his head closer, bites Mike's chest out of misplaced anger because he feels like Mike should just know. Or should be pushier about it. Or something. He's not shy about this kind of shit, why can't he ask Tom. Tom wouldn't lie if Mike were to _ask_. Probably.

Mike groans and grabs Tom's ass, hitching him closer. His fingers slip, pressing deep between Tom's cheeks and rubbing dry over his hole.

Tom thinks about Mike shoving his fingers into him. His thick, rough fingers, fucked as far into Tom's ass as they'll go.

Gasping, he comes all over Mike's sheets.

He laughs after, at Mike's bitching, because the bed is a fucking mess and there's no way Tom is cleaning it up. He shuts Mike up by swallowing his dick and then dragging him back to his room to sleep.

―

Tom rolls over onto his stomach and doesn't think he can make it much clearer that he wants to be fucked than putting his ass in the air like a bitch in heat.

Mike jerks off onto Tom's back.

―

Mike is a fucking idiot.

Of course, Tom has been aware of this from the start, but it dawns on him in these irritating little jabs at the worst possible times.

Like when they're on a Costco run and Mike thinks there is any chance in hell of them using up three bottles of ketchup in one season. Like when Mike argues they don't need a table because it would take up too much space and the ping pong table will work just fine. Like when Tom desperately wants to be fucked and Mike is _not_ getting it.

Tom is also a fucking idiot. He's been aware of that from the start too. Because he usually agrees with Mike's nonsense, and only argues because Mike gets so worked up over the dumbest shit.

The problem is that Tom isn't sure he can take it anymore. Mike is driving him up a wall. Tom's driving himself up a wall, being too stupid to ask Mike for what he wants.

He's not worried about Mike judging him. He's not worried that it's going to hurt. It's not some dumb internalized homophobic notion that taking it up the ass is going to make him more gay. He's already pretty fucking gay, and that's just fine with him. He doesn't think there's much of a risk of Mike saying no.

Before, he might have been worried that he wouldn't like it that much, but he's cramming his fingers into his own ass every time he gets a chance to jerk off alone at this point, so it's not that anymore either.

It's his own stupidity he can't get over; his own inability to just ask for it.

―

He stops fucking Mike. It's probably not going to have the desired effect, he knows, but it's worth a shot regardless. Maybe he's punishing Mike for not being able to figure this out on his own. Maybe he's punishing himself for not being able to get the words off the tip of his tongue.

Mike thinks he's mad when time after time Tom cuts them short, jerks Mike off instead of fucking him, or blows him while Mike is fingering himself open, trying to push Tom's head away before he comes, and failing. Mike says Tom can fuck him after he's wrung out and blown his load, but Tom just jerks himself off like it's no big thing.

He straddles Mike's lap once, feels Mike's softening dick nestled up against his ass, and wonders why he can't just say the fucking words. Like Mike can say them, like it's nothing. Because it's not. It's not really a big deal, even if it's a first time thing, Mike isn't going to hurt him. It changes nothing.

Tom punches Mike in the chest and comes on his face and goes to sleep in his own bed.

―

Mike doesn't really get mad at Tom. He's confused, and he's angry, but he never directs it at Tom. Tom kind of wishes he would. Part of him wishes Mike would get pissed and yell and ask Tom what the fuck his problem is, because maybe then Tom could get his shit together enough to ask.

Instead Mike gets sweet. Brings Tom coffee in the morning and spends more time kissing him in the span of a few days than he's done in months of them screwing around.

He's trying to make up for whatever he's done wrong, Tom realizes with a stab of irritation, as Mike kisses his neck and cuddles up against him on the couch. It pisses him off even more. It's not as though Mike has really even done anything wrong, while at the same time Tom is irrationally mad that Mike's not getting it.

Tom knows he's going to have to come out and say the actual words because it'll take Mike an eternity to ever figure it out on his own. He's not an intuitive guy. It's been this long and Mike still hasn't gotten a clue.

Tom thinks he could print out a sign boldly stating 'fuck me' and tape it to his ass, and Mike would still think it meant Tom wanted to top.

Mike murmurs something indistinct and presses the remote into Tom's hand. The ultimate peace offering. Annoyed, Tom turns off the TV and reaches over to grab Mike's dick through his sweatpants, squeezing, hard.

“Bedroom, now.”

“What the fuck?” Mike grumbles as Tom hastens him toward his room with a shove. “Seriously, what the fuck, Tom?” he asks more sharply when again Tom pushes him.

Tom's maybe being a bit rougher than he needs to be, but he can't quell his frustration. He reaches for Mike's shirt and pulls that off him and goes for Mike's pants just as forcefully. Despite the rough treatment, Mike's already half hard. Or maybe he's enjoying Tom getting demanding.

Either way, Tom's tired of not getting what he wants and not being able to ask for it. If Mike can't figure it out, then Tom's just going to have to do it himself.

He gets his own clothes off with as little finesse as he used to remove Mike's and grabs the lube, shoving Mike down against the bed. He quickly straddles his waist and digs his knees into Mike's sides to keep him there.

He doesn't give himself time to think about it, riding on the high of being keyed up and frustrated. The lube is cold against his fingers, and feels even colder yet when he's knuckles deep inside himself. It warms up quick with body heat and friction, two fingers fucking past his body's natural resistance.

“Oh fuck,” Mike whispers, staring up at Tom with wide eyed wonder.

It feels like Tom has been waiting for forever, and his patience has worn thin. He grabs Mike's cock in his other hand, slicks it up, and gets his fingers out of the way, finally getting Mike inside of him.

Mike's whole body locks up, tensing, as Tom slides back, finding his hole with the head of Mike's cock. His abs ripple as he pants in a breath, mouth fallen open. Tom feels each of Mike's fingers digging in singularly when Mike grabs onto his thighs, holding on.

“Have you ever―” Mike starts to ask, choking on the rest of the question when Tom sits down on his cock.

Too hard and way too fast. It hurts like being split wide open, burns deep into the core of him. And he fucking loves it.

It loosens the invisible band around his chest like scoring the first goal of the season, a weight off his shoulders that makes it easier to breathe. He's wanted this for way too long, been thinking about it.

“Jesus fuck,” Mike gasps loudly, sitting up to wrap his arms around Tom's waist. “You're tight as hell.”

Tom shudders and clutches at Mike's shoulders. He tries to move but Tom's got him held down.

“Is this why you've been such a bitch for the last month, you wanted my dick that much?”

Tom swallows against the lump in his throat and digs his fingers into Mike's shoulders, trying to rise up. Mike's arms are like bands going right back around him, vice grips not letting him have what he wants.

“Why didn't you just tell me?”

Tom still can't say it. “I tried,” he grinds out, arms flexing with effort. He's bruising the fuck out of Mike's shoulders but Mike's not letting up.

“You want me to fuck you?” Mike asks, so softly, so sweetly, it makes Tom ache more than he already does.

The desperation in his voice should be embarrassing, but he's waited too long for this. “Yes.”

It's like ripping his lungs out when Mike lifts Tom off him, leaving him emptier than he was before, gutting him.

“No, no, no,” Tom whines, fighting Mike's hold on him.

“I got you,” Mike soothes.

He's not exactly gentle about getting Tom where he wants him, but Tom doesn't give him much of a choice, throwing every inch of his height advantage against Mike when he pushes Tom down to the bed.

“I got you, babe, come on.” Mike's got Tom's hands pinned to the sheets, uses his thick thighs to get Tom's legs spread wide for him.

Tom is practically sobbing, breaths hitching high and desperate in his chest. Mike is so close to being right where Tom wants him, he can taste it.

“Tell me what you need,” Mike says.

Tom moans, trying to leverage Mike inside of him, but all he gets for his effort is the long drag of Mike's cock over his hole. Mike is fucking ruthless. He knows exactly what Tom needs, but he's got him pinned down and he's not giving in until Tom says it.

He leans forward and kisses Tom's jaw, whispering, “Say it.” He punctuates the words with a slow grind of his hips, making Tom feel every inch of what he's missing. “Say it.”

The dam breaks.

“Fuck me. God, I need you to fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me already.”

“That's it,” Mike says, laughing a little. “Louder. Let the neighbors know what you want, baby.”

Tom is almost yelling by the time Mike finally slides home, fucking the words right out of him. Mike lets go of his wrist in favor of pushing Tom's knees up, folding him in half to fuck him deep and hard. Tom grabs Mike's ass by handfuls and tries to pull him deeper, harder.

Every breath is pounded out of him until his head is swimming. He can't think of anything but Mike fucking him, wishes Mike could always be fucking him, never wants him to stop.

He comes with Mike's hand tight around his dick and Mike's dick deep inside his ass. He clings tighter yet to Mike when he knows Mike's got off too, holds him there until Mike's come right back around to getting hard for a second time.

He makes Mike fuck him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate summary: Tom's butthole writes checks his mouth can't cash. 
> 
> Thanks to a certain spongy mushroom tip for always putting up with my shit.


End file.
